Some of you have sent birthday wishes... Thanks!
I thought I might tell you about my birthday, it being one of the strangest of my life.
On the 31st of July I am sleep-deprived and anxious. ¿What to do tomorrow? While walking the side streets of the Catalan capital, I decide to head north on the metro. Picking a name that sounds nice: ¨Villasar de Mar¨ from the subway map, I am whizzed 20km north of Barcelona along the coast. Being by the coast, I think, there must be a hostel where I can stay for two nights and meet travellers to celebrate my birthday with. (I´m all in for meeting local folk... but travellers usually are looking for something to celebrate anyway). No. In the end I walk about ten kilometres before settling on a moderate hotel. (the lap of luxury, for me)
So I wake refreshed, walk suburban alleys, try in vain to contact my cousin holidaying who might be in Barcelona, eat watermelon and a strange postre (cake) on the awesome swimming beach with lukewarm water and no tourists!
My hotel gives me a complimentary iced coffee. The busboys are friendly. There is one from Uruguay with a dirty mouth. ¨Your birthday? there will be a lot of f···ing, ¿no?¨ And one from Boliva, whose Español was much more polite.
It´s the metro back to Barcelona and then to the inland quarter where ´Parc Guell´ beckons. The view from the top is amazing: Barcelona a sworl of orange and brown. I meet Jonathon, another traveler on his own. He declines my celebratory Estrella ( local beer) because he is a lightweight. And tired and hungover. But we enjoy each other´s company, and stay on the hill in Guell until after sunset. That also means we see Gaudi sin turistas! We talk, in Spanish when we can, and eat a beautiful paella in La Plaza Catalunya (Catalonian square followed by another strange, gooey postre. It´s now midnight and Jonathon heads off to get lost on the bus system, after arranging to meet tommorrow, while I search for musica. I find it, not in the tacky clubs of Porto Olimpico (that comes later) but with two loco French travelers (Renault and... I forget) drinking and playing hack flamenco on the streets. We garble Spanish, play some blues together.
Its then I want to go to bed. But the train timetable has other ideas. So I go to Porto Olimpico, am dissapointed, get on a tram, then a train, and see the sun rise massive over the mediterranean with tired eyes and then collapse into bed for a few hours sleep before a midday checkout.
I thought I might tell you about my birthday, it being one of the strangest of my life.
On the 31st of July I am sleep-deprived and anxious. ¿What to do tomorrow? While walking the side streets of the Catalan capital, I decide to head north on the metro. Picking a name that sounds nice: ¨Villasar de Mar¨ from the subway map, I am whizzed 20km north of Barcelona along the coast. Being by the coast, I think, there must be a hostel where I can stay for two nights and meet travellers to celebrate my birthday with. (I´m all in for meeting local folk... but travellers usually are looking for something to celebrate anyway). No. In the end I walk about ten kilometres before settling on a moderate hotel. (the lap of luxury, for me)
So I wake refreshed, walk suburban alleys, try in vain to contact my cousin holidaying who might be in Barcelona, eat watermelon and a strange postre (cake) on the awesome swimming beach with lukewarm water and no tourists!
My hotel gives me a complimentary iced coffee. The busboys are friendly. There is one from Uruguay with a dirty mouth. ¨Your birthday? there will be a lot of f···ing, ¿no?¨ And one from Boliva, whose Español was much more polite.
It´s the metro back to Barcelona and then to the inland quarter where ´Parc Guell´ beckons. The view from the top is amazing: Barcelona a sworl of orange and brown. I meet Jonathon, another traveler on his own. He declines my celebratory Estrella ( local beer) because he is a lightweight. And tired and hungover. But we enjoy each other´s company, and stay on the hill in Guell until after sunset. That also means we see Gaudi sin turistas! We talk, in Spanish when we can, and eat a beautiful paella in La Plaza Catalunya (Catalonian square followed by another strange, gooey postre. It´s now midnight and Jonathon heads off to get lost on the bus system, after arranging to meet tommorrow, while I search for musica. I find it, not in the tacky clubs of Porto Olimpico (that comes later) but with two loco French travelers (Renault and... I forget) drinking and playing hack flamenco on the streets. We garble Spanish, play some blues together.
Its then I want to go to bed. But the train timetable has other ideas. So I go to Porto Olimpico, am dissapointed, get on a tram, then a train, and see the sun rise massive over the mediterranean with tired eyes and then collapse into bed for a few hours sleep before a midday checkout.
Ah... ¡bueno!
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